


Breaching Reichenbach

by LegoLock



Series: Breach [2]
Category: SCP - Containment Breach, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Blood and Gore, Crossover, Fawnlock, Flashbacks, Horror, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Sex, Suggestive Themes, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:25:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1810165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegoLock/pseuds/LegoLock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is in the deepest pits of a fresh new hell, a state of the art SCP facility called Reichenbach Fall. He shouldn't be there...he should be dead. The unlucky ex-solider/test subject can't seem to recall his previous trip through hell...or his own name. However, John comes to realize his lost past is the least of his concerns when he is labeled as a SCP...because John Watson cannot die. His life is split between a waking hell and confusing dreams where a creature with glowing blue eyes leaves him longing. The former SCP, Sherlock Holmes, was initially shocked and furious to discover himself not dead at the end of Baskerville. Mycroft has been keeping deadly secrets and a new threat has arisen to challenge their realm. A rival as devious as both Holmes brothers combined. The key to success, for both sides of the coming battle, lies in the one person who cannot remember his past. Regardless of the risks, Sherlock must find John before someone else does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impossible Life

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Włamanie do Reichenbach- TŁUMACZENIE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3962488) by [Toootie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toootie/pseuds/Toootie)



> OH NO I DIDN'T JUST!? But I did! I liked them so much I brought them back, my evil little heart couldn't wait much longer to reveal this part. So many of you wanted them to live happily ever after...but that's not why I'm doing this! I always planned to bring back this pairing because it was too much fun to let go. I hope you enjoy it as much as I will and I hope it keeps you just as riveted and terrified as the last time. So enjoy, or don't! <3<3 (Yes, this is a short first chapter, but it's a start with a bang and confusion chapter ;P)
> 
> (DISCLAIMER: I don't own Sherlock or the works...wish I did...but I don't & I don't own SCP Containment Breach)

The silent slide of the hydraulic door went unheard in the dim, disturbingly white, room. A pair of researchers, with long white lab coats, strode along the dark rows of computers and various other machines, turning each on methodically as they came to it. They worked in perfect synchronization as they progressed towards the centre...towards the containment cell. Its thick glass walls allowing the researchers to see into the cell from every possible angle. It was bare of all furniture...no bed...no chairs...nothing for comfort.

Curled in the furthest corner of the transparent cell was a single occupant, one who curled into an even smaller ball as the room lights were brightened. The occupant wore a terrible white outfit, one that looked more akin to a mental patient than anything, and was entirely barefoot. His ragged blonde hair was barely visible under his arms, which he kept over his head in a defensive manner. The researchers barely spared him a glance, just continuing their daily start up routine.

His name was SCP-9340.

At least that was what _they_ called him. He didn't actually know his real name, nor did he know about how he'd come to be in the rubble of Baskerville...wherever that was. All he knew for certain were two things: One, he was that he was in in a hellhole so deep that even the devil himself wouldn't tread there; two, _he couldn't die._

Two years ago, he'd awoken inside the decimated remains of a building that, he was told, was called Baskerville. Somehow, he'd survived whatever had happened without so much as a scratch, though the jumpsuit he'd been found in looked like he shouldn't have survived... _couldn't_ have survived. He'd been found by a tactical unit...whose orders were to “tie-up loose ends”. The blonde SCP had been shot on sight...and before the unit cleared the hall, he'd come back to life with a sputtering gasp and no sign of the bullet holes which had killed him only moments prior.

Two years ago...they'd taken him captive and brought him to his current hell. _Reichenbach Fall_. A new SCP facility which was inescapable. It was three times as large as Baskerville had been. It had three different fail safe systems and it was so far underground that it took nearly ten minutes in an elevator to reach the first floor. SCP-9340 never saw much more than his cell, however. He'd been brought in unconscious...and he'd never been allowed to leave since.

The sudden hiss of the intercom flickering to life made the SCP tense as if it had been a clap of unexpected thunder.

“ _SCP ninety-three-forty, get into examination position.”_ The stoic voice commanded, echoing in the glass chamber quite loudly.

The curled SCP made no attempt to move, aware his defiance would cost him...but compliance didn't hurt any less most days. He heard the subtle sigh an instant before the intercom clicked off, the researcher would call for the guards. They would arrive shortly, so he savoured what little time he had left before his daily tortures began. The researchers that examined him every single day were there to try and kill him. SCP-9340 didn't know how many times he'd died in the past two years...but they'd all been painful and they'd all been accompanied by his subsequent revival and return to his hellish existence.

His cell door slipped open without so much as a whisper, the guards, however, practically marched in. They approached without hesitation, because while SCP-9340 couldn't die...he wasn't actually anymore dangerous than a normal person.

“Le-leave me alone!” He shouted, pressing into his corner desperately.

“Get up!” Was all one growled, a pair grabbing his arms to haul him to his feet.

The stout blonde SCP thrashed against the larger guards, successfully yanking one arm free so he could land a heavy blow to the other's jaw. He didn't get another chance to retaliate as he was suddenly being crushed into the hard floor by a hefty guard, who twisted one of his arm's roughly behind his back. The SCP bucked violently, trying to dislodge his latest attacker, but another body soon added to the pressure on his back and made not only moving difficult...but breathing as well.

Fighting was futile, but SCP-9340 had nothing to lose. He couldn't die and it wasn't from lack of trying. They were going to keep killing him every single day...and they made it painful regardless if he fought or not. The guards kept him pinned against the cold floor, wrenching his arms behind his back and applying too tight steel cuffs. The SCP would be bruised and bloodied by them by the end of the day. He was dragged to his feet and forced, still struggling, towards the centre of his cell.

SCP-9340's cell door swooshed open silently again, admitting an impassive, masked, lab worker wheeling in a heavy looking gurney. A gurney with chains and leather straps hanging off each side. It looked like something straight out of his darkest nightmares. The faceless worker rolled the horrible, clanking, contraption closer...and he went mad. A desperate scream of frustration sprang from his lungs, echoing in the small cell, as he torqued his small body violently against the strong, unrelenting, hold of the guards. Their grips tightened as they suddenly struggled to keep a firm hold on the thrashing SCP.

His feet left the floor, kicking out desperately at the horrible device he was about to be strapped down to. His screaming was reaching a blood curdling pitch when he finally managed to land a blow, with his heel, which knocked the gurney off balance. The lab worker tried to keep it upright and caught another wild hit from the thrashing SCP, which knocked the faceless worker onto their back. The gurney fell onto its side with a deafening clatter. For a brief moment, the guards were stunned, giving SCP-9340 enough time to twist in their hold and drive his forehead against one guard’s chin. As the guard dropped in a daze, SCP-9340 was plastered to the floor. A knee crushed into his spine between his shoulder blades, two strong hands twisting into this hair to keep his face mashed against the cold floor.

“Let go! Let go, dammit!” The blonde SCP raged desperately as moisture dampened his eyes, “L-let go...” His voice dying into a despairing whisper of resignation.

The rattle and clatter of the gurney being righted drowned out the rest of his mumbled pleas against the floor. Once more his cell door hissed open, more guards filed in and more hands were laid on him as they dragged him upright. He was barely vertical more than a second before they were shoving him onto the horrible restraining device. They held him immobile while the lab worker set about fastening the straps as tight as they would go, pulling the straps until the SCP made rather distressing soft noises.

When the restraining hands were finally removed, SCP-9340 was helplessly trapped on his back. Thick leather straps crossed his body to hold him against the heavy gurney, they were pulled tight over his chest, hips, and legs. His arms remained trapped at his back, now painfully pinned under his body. His shoulders were on fire and he could feel the uncomfortable dig of metal into his lower back. Another strap pressed against his forehead, making lifting or turning his head impossible. His bare toes curled tightly as he struggled to find any leeway in his restraints. His breath rasped in his throat as he struggled to breathe through the tightened straps. The guards filed out of the cell, leaving SCP-9340 at the mercy of the researchers. The pair of which appeared in his limited field of view with the ever hovering masked worker, the one who was now eager to get back at the helpless SCP.

“Pl-please...”

His pleas, as always, went ignored as they silently set to work. Sticky pads with wires pressed to his skin, making him tremble fearfully. The SCP clamped his eyes shut, unable to quell the shudders any longer at the sight of his latest torture.

Liquid fire spread through his body, agony gripped every bone and wrenched a purely animal screech from his throat. Electricity fizzled in his ears with the faintest of buzzes, like a small gnat that wouldn't go away. His body spasmed, as much as the restraints allowed, uncontrollably. Every nerve burned and every pore bled sticky sweat. Just when the SCP thought he could take no more...the burning stopped abruptly and his body went limp. He gasped in a horribly painful breath, the oxygen shredding his lungs like glass through tissue paper. The blonde SCP wanted desperately to scream, but his voice only rose to a hoarse hiss of air.

“That was ten percent...” One of the researchers commented, taking a few notes as they examined the SCP shuddering before them.

 _'Just ten percent?'_ He moaned and dug his nails into his palms

“Up it to sixty percent.”

The shuddering SCP felt his bones turn to pure acid as the next charge raced through his rigid body. A scream caught in his throat, trapped behind paralysed muscles which would force nothing past his throat. Pure agony gripped him as his heart raced erratically in his chest. Every painful beat a little faster than the last, until it stuttered to a halt. The pain was gone in an instant...and so was the world. It was all snuffed out with the suddenness of a candle being blown out.

Darkness engulfed him.

Darkness soothed him.

Death was a very far away dream for the blonde SCP, the closest he felt he could get to it were the strange states he experienced between deaths. The precious moments between the time they killed him to the time he revived.

Something about the darkness seemed...familiar. It embraced him and called to him voicelessly. It beckoned him somewhere. Usually SCP-9340 was revived before he could go to it, but on occasion, when they killed him quite horribly, he could follow the call to the source of the beckoning. Always it was an indistinct shadow on the edge of his sights. It was a tall shadow with strange, glow, bright blue eyes...it called to him. Sometimes he could make out other features...like a flicker of along tail or the glint of an antler, but nothing that made sense.

As always, SCP-9340 could feel the pull of his shadowy caller as he drifted in the darkness. He sought it out, seeking the solace of the unknown creature. He could see it lingering on the cusp of being fully in view and just out of sight, but unlike before...he could smell it. A wave of spices and ash rolled over him, swirling around him like a heavy fog. The scent was overpowering and the blonde SCP felt himself struggling to recall it...it was familiar, frustratingly familiar.

_Come..._

Pain flared around him in the darkness as he heard the faintest voice in the darkness. It was a smooth, rich, voice that set the confused SCP on fire with desperate longing. It was the first time he could hear the voice! He felt another wave of pain race over him, pulling him away from his comforting shadow, which reached for him.

_Come...to...me..._

_'I'm trying!'_ He tried to say, but already he was being dragged out of the gloom and back to the living world.

His eyes popped open, blinking rapidly against the harsh lights, and he inhaled a deep lungful of hated breath. Pain shivered through him as his body shed the remainder of the damages caused by his latest encounter with the research staff of _Reichenbach_. The blonde SCP waited out the spasms and carefully catalogued his location and the state he was in.

The floor.

Hands still cuffed.

So it had been a few hours at best...it always felt like seconds when he was in the darkness. The gurney was gone, but someone stood outside his cell. They were keeping careful watch to see if he actually died it seemed. SCP-9340 sat slowly, he felt physically fine...but mentally he was exhausted. All he wanted...

“Is to die?” A sing-song voice filtered in through the intercom, causing the blonde SCP to start and glance towards the speaker.

Holding down the button was the man who he'd first thought was just there to observe his revival rate. He was a rather immaculate looking fellow, a lab coat kind of casually slung over his shoulders. A t-shirt and some nice jeans. He had the appearance of an intern more than a researcher. His dark hair was combed perfectly into place and his eyes reflected like orbs of pure ebony. He smiled unpleasantly sweet, cracking his gum thoughtfully.

“You want to die, right... _Johnny Boy_?” He winked and watched the blonde SCP shift to face him more directly.

“Y-you...?” SCP-9340 began in a weak tone.

The man smiled sinisterly and shrugged, “Know your name? Oh yes, I know all about you in fact...”

“Who...who are you?”

“My name's Jim. _Jim_ _Moriarty_.” The man all but sneered, “And I'm your best friend from _Baskerville..._ ”


	2. His Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long to put up this next chapter! I'm kind of trying to find housing in less than a month and it's a full time job...plus my full time job! Anyway, enjoy my lovelies! (Or don't ;))

_"And I'm your best friend from Baskerville..."_

Heavy silence fell between Moriarty and SCP-9340, it was calculated and tense and seemed to go on for an eternity. The blonde SCP, reluctantly, broke the silence as he shifted back a few inches and a wary scowl touched his lips.

“I don't...believe you.” There was something about this man, Moriarty, that seemed wrong. SCP-9340 couldn't exactly place the strange, instant, distrust...but the way Moriarty stared at him like he was going to devour him was certainly not helping.

Moriarty's grin, which was starting to get on the SCP's nerves, just widened and a dark glint of predatory pleasure raced across his visage. “Oh good...I hoped you wouldn't, that would make things too simple.” His admission sounding more like a soft hiss as he cracked his gum thoughtfully. “It makes you c urious, though...right?” Moriarty beamed, looking even less trustworthy by the second. “I could tell you everything you want to know. I could tell you exactly who you are and what happened to you...but you don't trust me, which I applaud you for, and you won't bother to ask because I might lie to you...right?” 

SCP-9340 swallowed hard, the man was right on with his assumptions. How could this man know exactly that? Was he really so plain and easy to read? Or was Moriarty keeping something from him...?

“What...are you?” SCP-9340 finally asked.

Moriarty's grin was positively sinister as he leaned closer, “Now you're asking the right questions, Johnny Boy.” Leaning back to shrug casually, “Not human....something far more spectacular.” Moriarty smirked, his sing-song tone twittering unpleasantly in the blonde SCP's ears. 

“Awfully bold to say that... _here_...don't you think?”

The man shrugged and cracked his gum without much concern, looking around like he was inviting people to come and get him. “Seems like they're a little busy.” Moriarty grinned wickedly, “The game begins again, I'd love to stay and chat more...but I have a previous engagement.” He winked as he released the talk button.

As soon as he did, the lights flickered ominously. SCP-9340 felt a rush of fearsome familiarity race up his spine as the lights in his cell flickered and dimmed. It couldn't be possible...it couldn't be...a breach! Presumably there was a warning voice going off in the halls, alerting the staff to the problem.

“ _The site is experiencing multiple Keter and Euclid level containment breaches...”_ SCP-9340 breathed in a horrified whisper, hearing the terrible blaring voice echoing in his memories. “Oh god...it's happening again...” The blonde SCP was confused and terrified, not sure what he was saying or why. Were his memories coming back? What did he mean by _again_?

A red light over the main door began to flash, giving SCP-9340 his only indication that his fears of a breach were right. In a few seconds the black steel shields, installed for just such an unlikely scenario, would descend over his glass walls and his chamber would be pumped full of various nerve gases, previously tested to ensure he would stay 'dead' for at least twelve hours. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, fully aware of the pain he would feel before he would die. However, the shields did not descend...instead the lights flickered out with a horrible sort of finality, leaving SCP-9340 stranded in the darkness of his silent containment cell.

SCP-9340 could hear his heart thudding in his chest as he tried to remain calm. The power had to come back soon...right? The blonde SCP almost screamed when he heard the nearly silently hiss of the glass door sliding back and to the side.

His cell door was open.

He should have been elated...but the open door only drove another spike of fear through his chest. He was exposed in a place where creatures the devil himself would fear were contained...and now, presumably, running loose. SCP-9340 remained still, unable to understand what was going on and why. Had Moriarty caused the breach? He seemed to know about it.

Would Moriarty be waiting for him to try and escape?

SCP-9340 shuddered and slowly, awkwardly, stood and edged towards the direction of the open door. The pitch blackness of the room wasn't helping him navigate and when he thumped into a thick glass wall with his face, he nearly lost his composure again.

“Stop it!” He hissed to himself, “Get a hold of yourself!”

A whimper worked in the back of his throat and a tremor raced through his body. SCP-9340 felt the urge to back away and try to hide, but the thought of being caught in the cell with no place to run pushed him forward. This time he pressed on shoulder to the glass wall as he walked along, seeking the door. Each step was slow and filled with dread. He was still cuffed...he was vulnerable...he couldn't die, granted, but he didn't want to be killed around every corner. And he didn't want to find out what Moriarty _really_ was...

The blonde SCP stumbled as his shoulder slipped off the glass wall and through the open door, falling to one knee with a pained grunt and wince. At least he'd found the door...now he needed to get out of the room. He had no doubts that the room door had been opened, just as his cell door had. With a bit of a struggle SCP-9340 managed to stand, his knee throbbed and he wondered if it was injured badly, and slowly began a terrifying shuffle through the room. His bare toes tentatively reached ahead in the gloom and felt for the various desks and chairs. He managed to avoid the first set of computer desks, but his luck couldn't hold.

SCP-9340 banged into the stretcher, the one he'd been restrained on earlier, and set the horrible device rolling into an unstable table, which toppled with a loud bang and clatter. Fear froze the SCP in place as the loud noises ricocheted hollowly around the room...and _out_ the open door. The oppressive silence after the clatter was suddenly filled with various cries and guttural groans that echoed from the depths of the facility. The clatter and bang was like a big dinner bell ringing in the darkness, drawing every creature of the gloomy hellhole right to him.

_Run._

But where? SCP-9340 struggled to navigate the room, no longer worried about being silent as he tried not to imagine what kind of creatures were going to show up in the next few minutes. He tripped and staggered his way to the doorway, fear fuelling his desperate, extremely loud, escape attempts. Another screech, much closer this time, caused SCP-9340 to desperately throw himself in the direction he thought the door was. He clipped the opening with his shoulder and bite back a curse as he staggered into the open, dark, hall. It was dim and hard to see, but the blonde SCP wasn't about to take his chances in his former cell. If he could get out of this hell, he was certainly going to try.

A scuttling to his right sent him bolting, hazardously, to his left without so much as a second thought. He didn't want to know what was coming, he just wanted to get as far from trouble as possible. The silence was terrifying and his own rasping breathes sounded like a hurricane in the oppressive silence. SCP-9340 knew he should walk, but fear and excitement drove him to run down the impossibly long corridor without a single clue as to where he was going. 

His echoing footsteps were the only indication of distance from the walls, he was almost praying he didn't run into a door...or something worse. It seemed like he'd run for days when the sharp snap of an echo alerted him to a closed door ahead and caused him to jar to a sudden halt. The gloomy darkness was still nearly impossible to see through, but the blonde SCP could just start to make out the faintest shape of the door as he slowly edged closer. 

A frustrated and desperate noise escaped his throat as the SCP was able to make out a keypad next to the door. His hands clenched behind him, pulling at the tight cuffs and wondering how long it might take to slip free of the tight steel. A clicking groan echoing faintly down the hall suggested not enough time. SCP-9340 felt tears gathering in his eyes, he wanted to hide somewhere and never move, but his progress was halted by a simple keypad he couldn't reach very well because his hands were cuffed at his back.

The pass code, of course, was another problem...or maybe it even needed a key card! Out of hopeful desperation, the blonde SCP crouched slightly and tried to work the door controls with his elbow. Much to his distress and disappointment, the door pad just beeped angrily. It needed something that he didn't have and though he loathed to turn back, the blonde was not staying near a locked door. It was no better than staying in his cell.

With much fear and trepidation, he turned back down the long hall and stared blindly into the gloom. What he wouldn't give for some sort of emergency light, all he could make out were shapes and shadows...barely a few feet away at that. He took a deep, terrified, breath...crouching low against the wall as he started to creep back the way he'd come. Every noise made him jump and every flickering shadow made him freeze. The going back was much slower than his hurried exit, wary of the creatures he might have drawn in with his frenzied running.

He'd been unfortunate enough to meet a few, as part of his own testing. They thought some of the more deadly ones might be able to prove fatal to SCP-9340...they had had no such luck. He swallowed hard against the pangs of fear that threatened to overwhelm him as he eased along the hall. Much to his relief, he found another door. A simple door that was so flush to the wall he'd missed it on his original flight. The SCP risked a glance around the silent hall before he stood and turned his back to the keypad, jamming the door control button more than was necessary out of nerves. The silent whoosh and gentle fluff of air as the door slipped open had the blonde man all but staggering backwards into the unknown room, relieved to have some sort of cover...he hoped.

The door slipped shut after mere moments, leaving the SCP to trun and inspect his new surroundings. It was another containment cell, but by the look of things...whatever had been in it was long gone. Tables were turned over and computers were strewn across the floor like trash. The cell, which he had to get close to, hesitantly, was empty and bare...minus a bloody trail leading nowhere. The blonde SCP sincerely hoped whatever had been in the chamber was gone, even so he wasn't about to linger. Carefully, he started to look through the mess for anything of use. His eyes passed over a pile of scattered papers, thinking to disregard them as nothing useful...until he spotted a few paperclips.

The impulse to take them and use them on his cuffs overrode his other senses and he knelt to awkwardly scramble for the tiny clips. For a few minutes, he searched blindly for the clips with his cuffed hands. His wrists were raw and a tiny trickle of blood tickled his palm where he pulled and strained too hard. A frustrated whimper threatened to pass through his parted lips just as he managed to get a hold of the first tiny metallic clip.

“Yes!” SCP-9340 couldn't help but exclaim as he worked the bends out of the clip and ran desperately shaking fingers over the cuffs to find the keyhole.

Wit the paperclip in the keyhole, he sat and worked with closed eyes. How did he know this would work? How could he know this would work? His hands were torqued and his fingers were growing numb, but he continued to try and work the lock loose with his pathetic tool. He could just feel the slide of the locking mechanizing when a noise made his blood turn to absolute ice.

It was the door... _opening_...


	3. Forever Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am deeply and truly sorry for not updating in such a long time. My life went a bit crazy and I got very sick, hurt, and busy. I know it's been forever since I touched this, I didn't mean to leave it so long. I'm sorry. I'm sorry and I feel terrible for leaving it so long! I really hope that you still want to read this and I understand if you don't. I promise, as I always have and will, that I won't leave it unfinished. I may take forever and a day to update, but I'll never leave it undone. I know what that's like and I know it can suck, but I swear I'm getting better and I will update more regularly from now on. I hope you're all still doing well and I'm sorry you had to wait this long for an update. You're all wonderful and I'm sorry for being such a scumbag and not updating this sooner.

_It was the door opening..._

A horrible chill raced down his spine as he turned his fearful gaze to the gaping entrance. His breath seemed frozen in his chest, his eyes straining to make out anything in the gloom. When they did, he wished to God that he hadn't even looked. Two luminous eyes blinked to life, they were like pools of mercury in the dim darkness...seeming to glow unnaturally bright.

It was the hypnotizing gaze of a predator.

SCP-9340 trembled violently, unable to quell the involuntary shaking as he stared into the luminous eyes. The creature the eyes belonged to stepped closer and SCP-9340 felt his lips part to scream, but the sound couldn't move past his frozen throat. He wanted to move, to run, to do anything but sit there! But the shining eyes compelled him to stay put. For a horrible second, SCP-9340 thought it was Moriarty...he, whatever he was, had promised to return for the blonde SCP, after all.

The terrified, helpless, SCP stared at the gloomy figure and waited for his end. Hoping that if it was the end...it would at least be permanent this time. The figure lingered just inside the door, sizing up the SCP on the floor for several long minutes, before a noise in the corridor made the eyes flicker away. SCP-9340 felt the hypnotizing hold break and instantly scrambled to his feet. His indistinct-possible-aggressor stepped hurriedly into the room and jabbed the button for the door when another noise issued, much closer than the last, in the hall. The blonde man struggled around a turned over desk, turning to try and catch a glimpse of the creature...but the eyes were gone!

A bolt of fear sliced down his spine as his eyes stared around for the creature, desperately wide and horrified. The room was deathly silent, minus the erratic beating of his heart as it thudded heavily in his chest. Uncontrollable shudders raced down his spine and a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.

Without warning...a warm, spicy, and somewhat pleasant, scent filled his nostrils as something impossibly soft brushed behind his neck! For a brief moment, he felt undeniable pleasure and relief swell in the back of his mind. As quickly as the feelings came, they were replaced by unbidden fear! A squeak of purr terror escaped his careful control he lurched ahead and whipped around! The luminous eyes filled his vision and sent him staggering even further, backwards, and over a fallen chair! The blonde SCP hit the floor with a cry of pain, his cuffed hands taking the brunt of the fall as something crunched audibly! Tears of pain jumped to his eyes, but he barely noticed as he tried to disentangle himself from the chair and scoot away from the looming luminous eyes!

Eyes which blinked with...concern and, perhaps, disappointment. The creature stayed put, staring a moment at the panicking SCP. It's pause was enough time for SCP-9340 to see the body attached to those terrifyingly bright eyes, and what a body it was!

The creature was tall, taller than SCP-9340 imagined, and sleek. He, for it clearly was a he, was a terrifyingly handsome cross between a human and some sort of majestic stag. His torso appeared mostly human…his arms where almost impossibly long and his fingers were nimble, each tipped with a rather terrific looking claw. His legs, however, where not human...they appeared to be some sort of deer legs. The cloven hooves looked sharp as knives from what he could see through the feathering tufts of silken curls. They matched the silken curls that spiralled at his elbows, elegantly flowing with every minute movement the creature made. Another curled patch of fur travelled from, what SCP-9340 assumed would be, the creature's naval to somewhere between his legs. It was meant to obscure genitalia not doubt, but he could see the hint of something, not quite small, outlined in the depths of the curls.

His body was covered in a coat of thick fur that was almost entirely obsidian. No wonder the blonde man hadn't been able to see him in the darkness before! Yet, as the panic eased in his chest, he was able to make out the snow white patches on the creature's flexing belly...his strong chest...the inside of his slender arms...the palms of his clawed hands...and his powerful inner thighs. SCP-9340 felt as though he'd seen the pattern before, it caused his mind to race as he struggled to identify the creature staring at him like a meal. The colours of the creature's coat mottled where they intertwined and SCP-9340's eyes widened when he caught sight of a tail twisting in the gloom behind the creature! It was almost comically long, but the more it twisted on the floor...the more the blonde man thought it suited the beast before him. Towards the end, the tail feathered and fluffed with more curly fur...the tail almost seemed to be a morbid fixation for the blonde SCP.

Reluctantly, he drew his terrified eyes towards the face of the creature. He felt his breath catch in his throat as his gaze was met with those bright, glowing, eyes that stared at him from under a morbid skull mask, the likes of which he'd never seen before. The skull itself was as black night and some sort of scene of horrible beasts intertwined had been carved into every groove. It could have been from some sort of deer, were it not for the terrifying fangs and jagged teeth that lined it. He feared what the lower jaw would look like on such a terrifying creature. Just the teeth would have been sufficiently horrific, but the skull bore antlers of shining ebony. They were flared and wide, almost moose-like, but they too had been carved with intricate scenes of horrible monsters. It fit the face of the creature flawlessly. The eye sockets glowed with the bright eyes and its own obscenely large set of antlers, more than three feet tall and branching, interlocked with the carved holes. Like they had grown around each other. His ears were long and flicking, tipped with white, through the long, curling, mane of untamed black hair that reminded the SCP more of a lion than anything.

“ _Christ...”_ Was all SCP-9340 could say as he stared into the deadly predatory eyes, waiting for the creature to pounce and end him.

The creature loomed closer, taking delicate steps onto the toppled chair that the blonde SCP's legs were still entangled with. He could feel the warmth radiating off the creature's body as he perched on the chair. His movement's were feline and fluid, boxing the SCP in with long arms on either side of his face. A rumbling noise worked in the creature’s chest, one that chilled the blonde SCP to the bone. SCP-9340 pressed against the floor, his breath caught in his chest and pain radiating from his hand, as the deer feature leaned its masked face in closer. There was a glint of fangs under the mask, which was enough to make the captive man's heart stutter with fear!

His reaction was entirely involuntary, but welcome. Before he knew what he was doing, SCP-9340 worked a stout leg down and planted his foot in the creature's chest! The glowing eyes blinked and the ears perked an instant before SCP-9340 heaved the thing's torso away with an explosive grunt!

The deer man toppled, the clatter of antlers rattling around the room too loudly for the blonde SCP's likes, as SCP-9340 rolled away! He scrambled to get away, to put distance between himself and whatever this creature was, as his pained fingers resumed their task of fiddling with the, thankfully not lost, paperclip in the lock.

Hooves clicked on the hard floor, alerting him to movement behind him. The blonde SCP turned to see the beast man standing, his tail lashing the floor with irritation. His glowing eyes locked on the fleeing man and he started to stalk towards him.

“Oh...God...” The blonde SCP cursed as he shot backwards, his fingers desperately working the lock as tears pricked his eyes. The deer man stalked closer, his long and graceful strides almost mesmerizing as they brought him closer to his prey.

The blonde SCP felt his back connect with a wall and a squeaked whimper fell from his lips, he was going to die. He didn't want to die. Sure, he'd come back, again, but that didn't mean he liked being killed over and over again! A sob of pure misery hitched in his chest, barely contained as the paperclip fell from painful, shaking, fingers. The deer man was almost upon, he could smell fire and spice as he closed his eyes and desperately hoped the creature would make it quick. A beeping to his right made the SCP groan, another thing was coming to join in the soon-to-be-feast! His body convulsed with fright and anticipation, waiting to feel the drag of claws or teeth. He wasn't unfamiliar to either, which only increased his anxiety about the coming pain.

SCP-9340 felt the soft, warm, touch of something against his cheek as the door swooshed open, another horrible tremble raced down his spine as the tip of a claw traced across his lips. The rumbling noise invaded his ears, amazing overpowering the thudding of his heart racing in his chest. The claw dragged over his chin and down his neck, resting on his throbbing pulse. SCP-9340 was certain he was about to die...he was certain the claw was about to slice his flesh...it would be sharp and smooth as it ripped through his flesh. Against his better judgement, the blonde SCP opened his eyes...meeting those glowing impassive eyes with wet ones filled with terror. Confusion seemed to flicker in the glinting depths for the briefest moment, before a rather explicit curse from the shutting doorway sliced through the silence!

“ _Sherlock!”_ The accent was British and gruff, but not unpleasant. It was accompanied by the body of a man---who was a head taller than the SCP, but not as tall as the beast---wedging himself between the deer man and the SCP! “Christ! You'll give him a heart attack!” The deer man, Sherlock, growled under his mask, a hiss seemed to issue from the depths of his chest and his tail lashed audibly on the floor. “Don't you even growl at me! You're _damn_ lucky he let you come at all! We had a deal!” The saviour snapped, drawing his shoulders back firmly and pointing to a spot several feet away.

For several long seconds, neither moved. Then, much to the blonde man's shock, Sherlock's ears drooped and he stepped away with a moody glare. Seemingly appeased, the SCP's saviour turned to him. He was middle aged with a hardened, but kind, face. His hair was a silver-grey in the dimness of the room, he was stout and clearly more than capable of handling himself in such a terrible hellhole. His hazel eyes were full of concern as he locked eyes with the blonde SCP, making him look away from the creature that was glaring at them.

SCP-9340 gasped in a shuddering breath that sounded too much like a sob, he was still utterly terrified. He wasn't sure he could trust a man that commanded such a terrifying beast! When the grey haired man moved to lay a steadying hand on him, SCP-9340 jerked away with clear terror.;

“D-don't!” SCP-9340 managed to force the word through his lips.

The grey haired man held up his hands, ignoring the snort from Sherlock, to show he wasn't going to harm the SCP. “My...my name's Lestrade. Greg Lestrade. I'm here to help.”

A bitter, incredulous, laugh rose from SCP-9340's chest as tears wobbled in his eyes. “F-fuck off! I've...I've heard that b-before!” Shaking his head and shakily stepping away again, “For t-two years, I've heard th-that!” He winced as he shouted, his eyes darting fearfully to the closed door. His breathes were rapid and ragged as he struggled to understand what was going on, “Fuck...I...I...I don't know you...d-do...do I know you?”

Lestrade slowly shook his head, his eyes were soft. “You don't know me...but I know about you.”

A shiver of fear raced down the blonde SCP's spine as those words echoed in his mind. It seemed like an age had passed since he'd heard similar words spoken earlier and he took another step away, “N-no...M-Moriarty...”

The creature, Sherlock, growled and pinned his ears; looking around at the name. Even Lestrade seemed put off, glancing to Sherlock and then back to the terrified and confused SCP. “Sherlock...I didn't know...”

“Of course you didn't.” The rich baritone voice swelled around the SCP's head like a familiar embrace, “You so rarely know anything of use!” Sherlock grumbled and stepped around Lestrade with a huff, once again drawing closer to the distressed SCP. “Did he touch you?” Lestrade reached to put a restraining hand on the deer man.

The blonde man shuddered, “N-no! Why does that matter?” Tired tears of frustration finally started to fall from his eyes as he stared up into the looming face of the masked creature. “ _Who_ the hell are _you_?”

Silence feel in the room as the first of the tears dripped, quietly, off his face. Sherlock watched each one, his bright eyes softening with concern. He lifted a clawed hand to reach for the blonde, but SCP-9340 flinched. Sherlock swallowed hard and withdrew his hand, moving it towards his own face to touch the mask. He eased it from his face with the gentle sliding of bone on bone, revealing a visage that wasn't nearly as fearsome as the mask. It was nearly human...minus the fact that the nose was flatter and more animal-like. He shook out his mane of hair and dropped the mask with a soft clatter, looking at the SCP through a tangle of unkempt curls.

“Sherlock Holmes...” He paused as those glowing eyes fixed with SCP-9340's once more. “...and you're _forever mine,_ John Watson...”


	4. Mate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm very sorry for the length of time it took to post another update. I honestly hate leaving stories so long, but life got a bit out of hand. I want you to know that I will always finish a story, it might just take a little longer than I hoped. So thank you for understanding and waiting. In real life, I write as an occupation as well, so unfortunately my fan fiction, which is a hobby, does get pushed back. I do honestly feel bad I promised to update sooner, best intentions but no follow through. It's been a bit of a tough few months and I'm just kind of getting over a hurdle or two. So thank you for bearing with me through this all. I hope you can understand that I am trying to update as often as I can and I hope you still enjoy reading it even if it takes forever and a day to finish. If you want to keep more up to date on things in my life, poke around my blog (the link is in my bio page). I'll be posting update information there and I'll be more than happy to answer questions there as well. For now, lets tentatively say I'm going to try to update at least once a month. If not more. Sorry if that kind of sucks, but I think that's about all I can handle right now. You're all lovely people and thank you for putting up with me.

_ “Sherlock Holmes...and you're forever mine, John Watson...” _

John felt his heart clench rather unexpectedly, pain flared behind his eyes. It felt like his head was about to explode. John morbidly thought, _'I know what that feels like...it's happened before.'_ For whatever reason, those words were enough to drive John to his knees in utter agony, drawing up images to his mind with savage vividness. A vividness that made the man scream! The world around him faded abruptly, but not so much that he wasn't aware of it. He could still hear Sherlock and Lestrade, the latter of which was shaking him, trying to rouse him from whatever this was!

He could hear Sherlock screaming as well, an agonized bellowing noise followed by a clattering crash! Had he fallen? John couldn't tell...his world was changed...it was becoming something he felt he'd seen before...becoming the ruins of Baskerville. He could hear Lestrade cursing and feel the man letting him go, he could hear him stumbling over to Sherlock...wherever the deer man had fallen and was currently flailing against the ground in apparent agony. A shared agony...but why? Why did he share John's pain?

The blonde SCP couldn’t ask, because he was suddenly enveloped in a memory...in a nightmare...

 

* * *

 

_ John pressed back against a wall of a dim corridor, his eyes fixed on the menacing claws of the creature looming over him. A deer creature who John knew, but the name escaped him. He had definite bulk to his shoulders and a stoutness to his legs. Long, sharp, claws tipped each finger...black blood dripping on the floor with audible plops.  _

_ The creature's antlers were immaculate ivory...only blackened slightly where blood clung to them. The antlers were intertwined over the beast's head. The points where sharp as needles, branching out in a terrifyingly impressive crown. They even grew towards his twisted forehead, their sharp end points crossing each other.  _

_ His eyes were a nearly solid, soulless and evil, black. His tail looked definitely more deer-like...albeit larger to accommodate a more humanoid body mass. His face remained largely human with a flatter animal nose. His fangs were much more prominent, jutting from his lips and glistening with saliva. _

_ His fur was thick and black and shining. A thick mantle of stark white fur billowed from his neck and head, flowing over his collar bones and shoulders like some sort of mane. His fur was rather long in certain places...particularly on his forearms and the lower parts of his legs around his cloven hooves.  _

_ John just watched in mute terror, his mind completely blanketed with fear. Mycroft  _ **(the creature's name was Mycroft!)** _ wore a mask. A bone mask made from an eerily white and decidedly beast-like skull (lacking the lower jaws of course) with some smaller obsidian antlers. Intricate details had been carved into the bone, depicting some sort of creature that John couldn't name. It fit perfectly on the upper half of Mycroft's face, not blocking his black eyes or impeding his fearsome fangs. The skull itself displayed some fearsome dentition as well, making John wonder what kind of creature it had come from. _

_ This creature was here to kill him...John knew Mycroft was only seconds away from killing him. John shifted uncomfortably, tempted to try and make a break for it again...but he didn't know if he could outrun Mycroft. _

“ _Why not just take him...when I was in the p-pocket dimension?”_ **Him who? John's head ached as he tried to remember...**

_ Mycroft folded his ears back as if he was irritated, it seemed to be a constant look for him. “Because...unless he sees you dead...he will not take his responsibilities. He will assume you are alive and he will search for you until he finds you. His bonds must be severed and he must feel the pain of it for the rest of his life so he will not be tempted to go out and find another mortal to fill the niche.” The beast flicked his long claws as he started back towards John, “Unfortunately for you...that means this is the end.” _

_ The terrifying deer creature reached down and dragged John up, causing him to scream in agony as his wounds were aggravated. He tried to kick away from Mycroft, but the beast man was too strong. He held John effortlessly off the ground...then very meaningfully he shoved his sharp claws into the side of John's chest.  _

_ Pain sliced through his lungs as he gasps frantically fro breath. He could feel the blood pooling in his lungs already, choking him slowly. What a way to go! Slowly was never how John wished for his death! He choked on blood in his throat, staring into those cold black eyes with as much hatred as he could muster. _

_ Mycroft met his gaze...looking upset...as if he hadn't wished to do this. He leaned in closer then, his fur brushing over John's cheek as he whispered something softly in John's ear. It sounded almost lyrical...but echoed darkly through his mind. The words were decidedly not a language John knew, but they caused his body to jerk and pain to slice down his spine as he was gripped by whatever enchantment this was. His heart burned and his mind swam through the sludgy blankness claiming him. _

“ _Forgive me.” Mycroft whispered, then dropped John to the floor and turned to leave the man struggling and gasping to breath, bleeding out against the cold floor..._

_ Forgive me? For what? What did he do? John couldn't think...he couldn't breath...agony consumed him and then--- _

 

* * *

 

Lestrade slapped John as hard as he could, snapping the blonde SCP's head to the side with a resounding crack! John yelped and rubbed his cheek, then stared at his freed hands with bewilderment. Nearby, Sherlock panted heavily where he sprawled amongst the desks and chairs. A sheen of sweat matted his fur and his tail lay limply across the floor as if it were to much effort to even twitch. John gasped in short breaths, confused and terrified.

“Fuck.” Lestrade hissed as he looked between them. _“Fuck!”_

John stared up at Lestrade, shaking as he struggled to understand what was going on. “What is going on?” He whispered, getting no response.

Sherlock moaned softly, “I should have known...”

“You should have _known_? _He_ should have told us!” Lestrade shouted, clearly pissed off as he kicked over another chair in frustration. “This complicates everything!”

John swallowed and started to slowly push himself to his feet, “What's going on?” He tried again, more determined this time. “Lestrade, calm yourself---”

“No! I will not calm down! This is bloody ridiculous, Sherlock! I'm not one of his expendable little fucking pawns!” The grey haired fellow was clearly upset about...something. John suspected it had to do with what just happened, “I'm his companion! I agreed to do this because h wanted you to be fucking safe as can be! Had he mentioned that _this_ was going on, than I would have told the both of you _absolutely not going to fucking happen!_ ”

The last shouted words echoed around the room, well...any chance that the screaming hadn't attracted something to them was long forgotten. The shouting definitely would have called the beasts of the SCP facility right to them. Lestrade shook his head as he took a few deep breaths, Sherlock seemed remarkably calm for all things considered.

John cleared his throat, his heart still raced in his chest, but the panic and fear was being replaced with utter confusion. “Someone what to...fill me in?”

“We knew each other, once, briefly.” Sherlock began, his deep voice drawing all of John's attention. “We met in a place called Baskerville, only I was the SCP and you were a test subject. You trusted me to get you out of the labs, but we met with tragedy.” John rubbed his chest subconsciously, “Yes.” Sherlock nodded slowly, starting to gain his feet. “However, not all is as it seems, John...”

The blonde man was leaning in closer, watching Sherlock's ears flick. The deer man rubbed at his left ear as if it caused him some kind of mild irritation. John swallowed hard. 

“Did you lose hearing?”

“No.”

Sherlock paused, blinking at John as if he'd said something profound. John was also rather perplexed...he didn't know where the question came from, or why. Apparently Sherlock did, but he seemed to take the cues off John's face and let it go in favour of continuing the explanation.

“My kind, John...we don't bond the same way you humans do. We are always looking for ou one true mate. We don't know where they are or hen we'll meet them, but when we do...there is an irreversible bond that occurs between them. It allows us to share our thoughts...or feelings...and our pains with each other.” 

John shifted uncertainly, “W-what? Wait...no...” He was...Sherlock's mate? No, that wasn't possible! They'd just met! Or...had they?

John was still confused. So very confused, but at least the panic and terror were starting to pass. Until Lestrade cursed softly and glanced to the door...which was emitting soft scratching noises. Noises that grated on John's very soul. A horrible shudder raced up his spine as another horrible memory threatened to overtake him.

Sherlock's tail flicked against the back of his legs, reassuring him that all was well. It shouldn't have, considering that John hardly knew the creature, but something about the tail flicking against his legs reminded him of...being safe. He didn't comment as they all stared at the door, two of them knowing exactly what those sounds meant. One, a deer creature, because he could remember. The other, a terrified blonde man who couldn't die, because of a horrible memory nudging at his subconscious.

Lestrade shifted back a few steps, staring at the door warily. “What the hell is that?” He hissed.

Both John and Sherlock replied, _ “SCP one-seven-three.” _


	5. No Easy Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay, so...I'm back. And I'm sorry. There have been a number of changes that happened to me since I last updated. I spent most of the previous year ill. I had a serious sinus infection. Less than a month later...pneumonia. I coughed so hard I broke my ribs. It was one thing after another really. I decided to take a mental break from writing my larger fics due to stress. I didn't mean to leave for two years, granted, but I did. I am very sorry about that. I do mean that I will always finish my fics, though, so I finally started to feel inspired enough to come back to my long fics. I have three on the go which I am jumping back into by starting here. For those of you who waited this long for an update, you're amazing people and I don't deserve fanatics like you. You're the best part of this. So, sorry about the delay. I promise that this time I will make an effort to update weekly, if not more, and once I finish here, I'll tackle my other fics I left alone for the time being. It's not a long chapter, but it's just a start to get back into the swing of things. Thank you for understanding and for your patience. You're amazing dears and I'm sorry to have left you all wondering if I'd come back. I always intended to, I never meant to be gone so long. It hurt to look at this fic and see it unfinished, but I just couldn't find it in myself to continue it for such a long time. But, I'm feeling that old spark and I'm elated to say that I'm back and the story will continue! Much, much, love. <3

**_“SCP-173?”_ **

Greg Lestrade was not overly impressed, he’d hoped to make this a quick venture. A rescue mission. In and out. But no, no…for some bloody reason, when he and Sherlock arrived, there was a goddamn breach in security and everything had gone to hell.

And John Watson, of all people, had managed to escape his holding cell before they could arrive. So, they’d chased him down and now…now they had to face off against whatever the hell was outside the damn door!

Which seemed to be something both John and Sherlock were familiar with. Lestrade was not.

“That’s it, we’re leaving.” Greg hissed, he was so not dealing with whatever the hell that was beyond the door.

John frowned, “We can’t just—“ John’s words died in his throat as he watched Greg lay hands on the wall.

Greg’s brow furrowed and his lips moved silently, forming words John had never once seen before in his life. The wall under his hands seemed to glow and groan…and then twist…and then morph. John wanted to be shocked or maybe frightened, but after how his day was starting out, a wall bending under the man’s hands was hardly the strangest thing he’d ever seen.

Something seemed to float free of Greg’s shirt, a pendant on a thin, braided, rope. It was glowing a molten red as the wall swirled into something more…sinister. A dark portal. John’s stomach did flip and he swore he could taste rotten, decaying, something.

It was a memory. He knew it was, because Sherlock clearly didn’t have the same reaction and Greg was the one conjuring the portal.

“Right, let’s get the hell out of here…” Greg muttered as he hands started to disappear into the dark pool of matter.

Sherlock offered a hand to John, which the man slowly took. It felt good…comforting even. And the fur was beyond soft. John wasn’t sure if he should go with Sherlock, but anywhere had to be better than here.

“Let’s go home, John Watson.” Sherlock purred, ignoring the scratching on the door and how incessantly nagging it was becoming. In fact it seemed to be reaching a fever pitch now…

Greg’s arms were sunk into the portal all the way to his elbows, he turned his head over his shoulder. “Step lively—“ Was all the grey haired man managed before his face contorted with agony and a sharp scream erupted from his throat!

He tried to pull his arms free from the portal, which now began to glow a sickening shade of purple, but neither limb budged. The portal just kept bubbling and boiling and swirling slowly. The darker the colour, the more Greg screamed. His knees gave out just as Sherlock leaped to his aid, trying to eradicate Lestrade from the horrible portal in the wall.

John jumped to help, but was stilled by a sickeningly familiar voice trilling in his head. A sing-songy voice with a soft lilt. _‘Leaving so soon, Johnny Boy? The fun’s just getting started?’_

Moriarty.

John shook his head to try and shake the voice out, lunging over to the whimpering man starting to sag with his arms still trapped in the swirling portal. He didn’t know what help he’d be, but there had to be something they could do.

“Pull!” Sherlock insisted as John wrapped arms around the sagging man’s waist. _“Pull!”_

John pulled, Lestrade screamed! But his arms didn’t budge. John felt his muscles straining, something popped in his back. Beside him, Sherlock’s tail lashed loudly against the floor as he hauled on the trapped man with all his might. It seemed like a futile effort, but just as abruptly as it all seemed to start, it ended. The portal snapped back to black and all three tumbled away from the wall! They crashed into a heap on the floor as the portal faded back to a normal wall.

Greg curled in on his arms, making it even harder to see what the hell had even happened to them in the already dim room. John struggled loose from limbs, and tails, and crouched at Lestrade’s side.

“What the hell was that?” He was asking Sherlock while trying to get Greg to let him see the arms.

Sherlock panted, struggling up and glaring at the wall, “Something…something is blocking our portal home.”

John swallowed thickly, should he mention Moriarty’s voice?

“Let me see…” John urged gently, prying one arm from under the hunched over form. The lighting was poor, but even John could see the horrific damage that had been done. His stomach flipped once again as he stared at the arm in his grasp.

Sherlock stared and John wasn’t sure if he was mortified by the sight…or something else.

Greg’s arm was…mangled. Which was a gentle way of putting things. The skin, in places, seemed scalded. It was blistered. Bleeding. And…the bones…John had never seen breaks like these. The arm was practically flexing and wobbling, almost as if the bone was liquefied. Three of five digits were stripped of flesh or ever close to it.

John could only imagine the other arm was no better.

It was a wonder Greg was conscious at all. He was undoubtedly in shock, his body was shaking. His breathing was ragged. The screatching on the door never ceased. It was still there, the thing was still out there waiting.

John started to strip off his shirt to try and bandage the wounds. Try to do something for the man that was so clearly in distress. But Greg shook his head, gasping ragged, shallow, breaths as he turned his eyes up to Sherlock.

“Pl…please…”

Sherlock’s eyes turned dark…grim. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Wanting to argue, to say no. John’s brow furrowed, but even he could tell what Greg was asking for.

A way out.

Sherlock nodded. Greg’s eyes closed. The scratching grated hard on John’s ears. Sending horrible shivers down his spine as the mood changed in the room rather abruptly.

“No.” John shook his head, but it wasn’t his choice. And he was a fraction too slow to stop what came next.

John lunged as Sherlock did. A powerful tail lashed out, catching John across the face and sending him falling flat on his arse. The deerman hoisted Greg from the ground, Greg didn’t even try to fight him. His head lulled back limply.

Sherlock hesitated. John regained his feet and started to lunge, but it was too late. Claws glinted in the darkness an instant before they disappeared into Lestrade’s chest!

_“No!”_


End file.
